~Poems of Mischevael.

[Mischevael]

    ~As you may be aware, the autumn season is only five days from today, with it coming any needed relief of summer, the changing of colors, and the heralding of the colder months after. In what sort of preparations do you engage for such? Gather firewood, prepare heating, clothing, insulations, etc.? I miss those days! How was your summer? Was it fulfilling? I hope that for this coming fall you stop to take notice of everything that can be noticed. It is a very sad thing to spend the other three seasons knowing that you could have enjoyed the one more. Thinking little, or more negatively of the fall, will result in magnifying those reports while adding others in the following winter. Then when the warmer days of spring arrive, there is an over expression of gratitude, not for any appreciation for what spring offers, but thankfulness for the end of the repressive, gloomy, difficult, even seemingly endless torments of the months before. So much as to take for granted most of what the new season is all about, even to the point where one does not even dare to consider its own obstacles. As the warmth brings flowers, hummingbirds, butterflies, etc., it brings bees, wasps, termites, flies, other swarming insects, allergies, and the list is too long to mention.

    If one does not let himself appreciate what, for one has been given to him, but two has no other option but to receive; then how does he expect to even prepare to receive what comes after? To avoid it altogether will neither prepare you but will you rob you of an experience that is both privilege, and duty to possess, if nothing more than to better mold our character. Many thus find themselves so doing as they move to and fro accordingly as the seasons change. In the absence of appreciation, there is complaint, dissatisfaction, discontent, impatience, impulsivity, compulsion, intemperateness in tempers, attitudes, and mindsets; leading to further, ingratitude, and an assuming that aught owes you, or you are more deserving of (or even than) whatever may present itself.

    There is little more dangerous to said 'appreciation,' than that of wishful thinking. Desiring that aught be other than it is; other than it is able. It is nothing more than a presumption. Appreciation does not seem to have the focus when one wishes for something better. Can you say to nature: 'give me rain, shine, shade, breeze, etc.?" You might as well walk out to your front lawn and demand the dandelion become rose. But has she not given you ample warning as to what will shortly come? Is there not a sufficient time that the trees give their brilliant colors? Some change earlier than other parts, but a time is given still. Does she even at times remind more sternly when patches of snow can be seen among the blanketing leaves? What are we doing during all this?

    What is true appreciation? Is it awing at its beauty? Gratitude for its comforts it bestows upon us? Yes, but it does not end there. In our neglect of what all we 'appreciate' has conveyed: not only in its physical and scenic signs, but in its warning signs also, then our appreciation has come to naught. When our neglect bears its sure results, what do we find ourselves doing? The very same as wishing for something else.

                            *************Mischevael.

[The Skarzs]

You must do a pot of deep thinking.

[Mischevael]

Redwall, Oh Redwall.
The headstrong will fall, but take heed all who think they stand.
For the walls you build, might not yield having your world a grounded garrison.
Think yourselves a purebred throng, and find yourselves dead wrong.
As you are hurled into your newly founded prison.

Copperl's tale of the fragrance of freedom.
They are easily dismissive that only serves to irk us.
While looked upon as sideshows as you enter the circus grounds.
A rejuvenating moment, to only foment what would defeat the purpose.
For they entertain the troubled mind, to satisfy their double blind want of clowns.
There is a great dissolution.
As they laugh at the confusion, as a boy taunting the lizard with a broken tail.
A stringless marionette, to bring this regret feeling their shame when they leave the institution.
They look back with jocularity, yet every word speaks desparity spoken to fail.
As they are themselves caught up in servitude.
They can only serve the crude, while suffering from the laxity of the hierarchy.
A stagnate repetitive incompetence, a vortex in a swamp hence a miasmic hors d'oeuvre pursued.
A routine you're forced to follow, and with each course you swallow more of the tired malarkey.
If a kind word turneth away wrath.
Then the path, to a cessation is humor.
Yet in the progression, of transgression then such be the aftermath.
As the wiles degrade, and the smiles fade the joy will only cradle a tumor.
Looking into the clear blue on a warm afternoon.
Longing for the night moon, as waning patience and anticipation collide.
As the sun makes its round, shines through all the sound to give hope for a free day soon.
To be cut by the blinds, as one only finds a gulf fixed in the divide.
The constant reverberation throughout empty halls.
With footsteps and doors and pounding walls, to go silent as the tolling through the grave.
With each hour to pass, and a deafened breeze through deadened grass to pay homage to each chime that falls.
To lie awake and begin, to finally take it all in the silence ever so craved.
Precious hope in a field laid fallow.
While their dogmas made hallow, to the heretic's despair.
Hope as a lonesome rose, thirsting for early dew that goes with the fade of each shadow.
Until you step outside, not looking back with each stride breathing deep the fragrance of free air.


"You must have both: Balance and direction; and go through your own hell to get them." ~BfIaM